The Score
by MegElizabeth
Summary: Sark keeps score. SS: One shot.


He placed the letter on the end of the bed, careful not to wake her as she slept peacefully.

  


As he left the room, he didn't look back. If he did, he would never leave.

  


*****

  


Two weeks earlier...

  


"I know that you know what happened to me,' she spat loudly. 

  


He only smirked. She was so irritable.

  


"I assure you, I was not privy to any of the circumstances surrounding your abduction, Miss Bristow," he said, his eyes dancing. His appreciative gaze was returned with a scowl.

  


"If I have to interrogate you myself, you bastard, you won't live to tell another lie," she said, before turning on her heels, leaving him behind the bulletproof glass.

  


He smiled, this time a genuinely, the first in quite a while. 

  


It was only a matter of time.

  


*****

  


He didn't know how, but somehow, in a matter of three days, Sydney Bristow had reclaimed the clearance to interrogate him. It was agents Vaughn and Weiss who escorted him to the sterile white room he knew so well. On the way, he had tried to make polite conversation, but the two men simply did not comply.

  


They didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. They would be left behind.

  


*****

  


When he was twelve, his mother and father had passed away in a car accident. No CIA file contained that information. It was a record that existed only in his mind, haunting his dreams, both in sleep and in wake. He had learned to shut down his emotions long ago, when he had been taken to that frightful orphanage, and then watched helplessly as his sister was adopted by a warm and loving family.

  


He, an awkward wide-eyed boy, was never adopted by a family, kind or otherwise. He was always overlooked, overshadowed by younger children.

  


Until he met Derevko.

  


He ran away on a cold winter night, and when he ran out of food after only a few hours of being on the street, he collased onto the cold, hard ground, and submitted to unconsciousness. Derevko's men found him in that state, and for some reason, had sympathy for him. They took him to Derevko, and she took him in, probably because of the void in her own heart...

  


Sydney.

  


His thoughts snapped back to the present, as he smiled at his interrogator. She was lovely, though wearing a drab black suit similiar to one she had worn during their days as co-workers at SD-6. He wanted to smile, to tell this woman somehow that the truth serum she had given him would be uneffective, merely because he had been trained for years to resist its power. He had been trained by the best liar in the world: her mother.

  


He hid the smirk though, as she dug her nails into his arm. Did she really believe this was hurting him? He had been through far worse. He closed his eyes, pretending that the serum was actually affecting him. He could almost see the smile on her face. Silly woman; completely naive. He opened his eyes suddenly, and she seemed to be surprised. He smirked at her finally, and realization seemed to dawn on her pale face.

  


Yes, he nodded, agreeing with her thoughts, which he had learned to read so well. That's right Miss Bristow. You will get nothing from me.

  


She surprised him though. Instead of the anger he had expected to rise in her doe eyes, tears began to run down her chiseled cheeks. He had never seen her like this, and wasn't sure how to handle it.

  


She turned away from him, obviously embarrassed that he had seen her that way, which he couldn't blame her for. They were adversaries; their shared goal was to defeat one another at any cost. 

  


It seemed that he had won.

  


*****

  


"Miss Bristow," he said, finally cutting through the tension that had developed. She wiped her eyes, turning to him quickly.

  


"Don't think that because you've seen me like this, that you've won, Sark. You will never win," she said, sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

  


He wasn't tied down to the chair that he was seated in, but his body, he had to admit, had been weakened by the serum. However, he stood slowly, moving to stand in front of her, his arm over the place where she had punctured him, very roughly, with the needle to inject the serum. He removed his hand from his arm, and placed it on her shoulder, and surprisingly, she did not pull away from his touch. His eyes seared into her own when he finally spoke.

  


"Truth takes time, Sydney."

  


She could only stare in shock when he collapsed to the ground. After several futile attempts to revive him, she called an ambulance to take him to the nearest CIA hospital.

  


He smiled, but she didn't notice.

  


The score was as followed: Sark, one. Bristow, zero.

  


*****

  


She rode in the ambulance with him, and though his vitals were normal, the paramedics assessed that he was experiencing some sort of allergic reaction to the serum.

  


He heard every word that was spoken, and had to stifle his laughter. Allergic reaction to truth serum? 

  


Preposterous.

  


*****

  


After a twenty minute ambulance ride, he was laying comfortably in a hospital bed. Sydney sat in a chair nearby, and he could feel her brown eyes on him even while his own remained tightly shut.

  


His first mistake was to sigh when he allowed himself to get comfortable.

  


It was stupid, really. Irina had told him never to allow himself to get comfortable, regardless of location or company.

  


Sydney knew he was awake then, so he decided quickly that it was the appropriate time to open his eyes. He pretended to observe his surroundings for a bit, and even squinted when he noticed her standing over him.

  


He had always enjoyed acting as a child. He smirked at her, and he could have sworn she almost smiled down at him.

  


"Where am I?" he asked, throwing in a slight cough for good measure. Sydney pulled her chair closer to his bed, resting her arms on the side of it.

  


"You had an allergic reaction to the serum. You collapsed at headquarters," she said, glancing over him. He knew that she was thinking how different, how small he looked in this bed.

  


He was anything but small.

  


"I see," he said, trying to sit up. When he did, he was surprised to find that he was lightheaded. Sydney noticed.

  


"You alright?" she asked. Sark smirked at her.

  


"Is that concern Agent Bristow? We'll have none of that," he said. She crossed her arms, and sighed loudly. Silence passed between them for a moment, as Sark plotted his next move. When he glanced back at Sydney, he recognized the suspicion that surfaced in her eyes.

  


"What?" he asked, slightly irritated at her constant gaze.

  


"You want to tell me what that act was really all about?" she asked. It surprised him, to say the least. So she had known? Then, why had she come? Bloody woman.

  


The score: Sark, one. Bristow, one.

  


*****

  


"I have no idea what you're talking about Miss Bristow," he said. She rolled her eyes.

  


"Sydney," she said.

  


"What?" he asked.

  


"Call me Sydney. And bull. I know your collapse was an act. Now, tell me why," she said.

  


He sighed. She really was a worthy opponent.

  


"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he said, smirking. She uncrossed her arms, leaning forward so their faces were mere inches apart. Sark gulped.

  


This hospital room was unbearably warm. It was unhealthy, really.

  


"Let me guess, Sark. You want out?" she asked, and his eyes widened. He only nodded.

  


She considered this for a moment, propping her head on her left hand. 

  


"I'll get you out," she whispered, "if you help me. After that, you're on your own," she finished.

  


He considered this for a moment, before extending his hand to her. She shook it firmly, as they both muttered, "Deal".

  


She didn't notice that he shivered at her touch, that much he could tell. She trembled as well.

  


Was she beginning to remember? He wasn't sure.

  


He only knew that he had missed her touch.

  


*****

  


Two days later they were in France. Things had progressed rapidly after their escape from the hospital.

  


He had somehow convinced her that it was imperative that they play the role of husband and wife on this 'rogue mission' of hers.

  


Sark, two. Sydney, one.

  


He had underestimated even himself.

  


*****

  


His downfall was how beautiful she was.

  


He hadn't forgotten, of course. He had merely pushed it far from his mind.

  


Her hair was its natural color, as he liked it best, and the dress she was wearing left far too little to the imagination.

  


All he could say, was that red was definitely her color. Two points for the dress.

  


Sark, two. Sydney, three.

  


Damn. She was winning. Again.

  


*****

  


When he led her to her mother's doorsteps, he honestly believed she was going to punch him in the jaw. She had pulled back her arm, but seemed to rethink the action, perhaps out of professional courtesy. He honestly couldn't care less where the afterthought had come from...he was elated that his chiseled features were still in tact.

  


He left them alone for a while, which he felt was a mistake.

  


He had been right.

  


Irina Derevko had the uncanny ability to convince anyone, namely her estranged daughter, that she was the victim...that she had somehow been forced to commit all the crimes she had committed over the years.

  


Rubbish.

  
  


When Sydney joined him over an hour later in the kitchen, he noticed that her eyes were red and raw from crying. He wanted to touch her then, but refrained from the gesture.

  


Not yet, he scolded. 

  


Maybe never.

  


Moments passed before either of them spoke. In the darkness, her stifled sobs were heard when she tearfully spat, 

  


"Why didn't you tell me?"

  


There was no need to decide who had won this battle.

  


They had both lost.

  


*****

  


He still couldn't remember how he had escaped from CIA custody. All he knew was that Irina and Sloane had concocted the scheme together.

  


What mattered was that he was free.

  


*****

  


He recognized her despite the mess of blonde hair and the cold, cruel stare escaping her never-changing brown eyes.

  


Her name was Julia Thorne.

  


His mission was to save the woman inside.

  


But what about him? Who would save him?

  


*****

  


She had shown no emotion but contempt when she became Sydney Bristow again. He couldn't say that he was surprised. He explained that he was only protecting her from the Covenant, from Sloane...from everyone. She had proceeded to throw a tray of food in his face.

  


*****

  


The first time he kissed her, she stabbed him in the arm with the steak knife that he had generously provided for her.

  


He wasn't sure what provoked him to do it.

  


He had only been in love with her since the moment he laid eyes on her.

  


Some emotions were just too powerful to fight, or deny.

  


The second time, she kissed him, only to pull away abruptly, slapping him across the face.

  


The third time, Anna was conceived.

  


*****

  


Blonde flowing hair, blue eyes the color of the ocean...she was beautiful.

  


A deadly combination of beauty, intelligence and fiery determination...that had been proved from the moment she was born. When Sydney's water broke two months before her due date, Sark couldn't remember feeling so frightened.

  


His daughter's blue eyes brought him back to reality.

  


He wished he could remain in the dream.

  


*****

  


Reality was cold.

  


Sydney's memories were erased by her mother. Sark still could see no logical reason behind the procedure, even now. She was returned to the CIA, to her life before.

  


She forgot him. Forgot Anna. Forgot their life together.

  


He tried to convince himself that he hated her.

  


He could lie to everyone else, but he could never lie to himself.

  


*****

  


Now that she knew the truth, it seemed natural that she was upset. She begged to see Anna, and his heart broke when he told her it was just not possible, not now.

  


She had fallen into his arms as she had many times before, only she couldn't remember.

  


She wanted to now, he realized suddenly, and it made him smile.

  


*****

  


He could not explain how they ended up in bed together. This had not been part of the plan. He did not want her to see how much he loved her...how much he needed her to remember. 

  


He never intended to fall in love with her.

  


As every other catastrophic event in his life had 'just happened', this had just happened as well.

  


When he stood up to leave the bedroom, he smiled at her sleeping form. She was beautiful, especially in sleep, and her hair framed her face in glorious tendrils. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead softly, careful to do so quietly.

  


He pulled on his clothes, far slower than they had been removed the previous night, and reached over to the night stand to write her a letter.

  


He placed the letter on the end of the bed, careful not to wake her as she slept peacefully.

  


As he left the room, he didn't look back. If he did, he would never leave.

  


*****

  


He did not see her face when she opened the letter, nor did he see her reaction. He imagined that she frowned when she found herself alone, and imagined that she felt betrayed.

  


He could almost see her smile when she found the note at the foot of the bed.

  


He had not forgotten her.

  


He could almost feel that tears that fell down her face when she read it aloud.

  


Sydney,

I've gone to ensure the safety of our daughter. It won't be long now, love. I will be gone for a few days. Remain here, with your mother. She loves you, nearly as much as I do. You will be reunited with our girl soon, this I promise you. I love you. - Andrew

  


He could almost see her smile through her tears, when she spoke his name again, as it sunk deep into her memory.

  


His name was Andrew.

  


*****

  


Days later, there was no need to keep score.

  


As he placed his daughter carefully in her arms, and Sydney's smile lit up the room, he knew.

  


They had both won.

  



End file.
